Steady, Breathe
by lifeinpoetry
Summary: Susan experiences familiar firsts. Coming of age again . Susan-centric ficlet.


Disclaimer: I don't own Narnia.

Warnings: Sex, sort-of incest but nothing really happens.  
Pairings: Susan/OMC, Susan/Peter  
Author's Note: Wrote this sometime last year but never got around to uploading it.

* * *

When Susan is fourteen she takes her first drink, something that warms her to her very toes.

It brings to mind another drink, another first. But where? She can't remember. Instead of remembering, she gets giggly and very drunk with her girl friends. Her mouth leaving red marks on the lip of the bottle. They call up boys, laughing into the phone, hearing the rumble of returned laughter. Of cheap remarks, of promised interludes. She promises one a date with the vinyl of the backseat, another a taste of her perfumed neck.

She giggles her way up the walk, through the front door, and into the crook of Peter's neck. Her heart beats fast as she can feel anger running from him to her.

"Su. I can smell it all over you."

She smells him, feels his warmth. There was another night, another age where she lay warm in a safe circle of arms. The singing from outside not lulling her to sleep. No, it was his steady breathing against her hair.

Susan opens her mouth to speak and vomits all over him.

* * *

When Susan is sixteen she gives up her virginity.

To Harry, a boy with well oiled skin and teeth like a picket fence. For an instant, she thinks of another night, another set of hands on her youth-tight breasts. The thought drifts away.

She laughs lowly into Harry's mouth, then kisses him. He doesn't smell right, drenched in cologne and nervous sweat. When her hand reaches down and strokes he groans and says, "That's good."

Her dress is soon up somewhere right underneath her armpits. She thinks of the wrinkles in the fabric and how she'll have to iron it. What a bother. He is trying to be smooth, trying to touch her as if he's done this hundreds of times before. She had heard of how quick he was from Mary, who heard it whispered from Jenny. Jenny has had experience.

When he finally is in her she moans in pain and half-remembered surprise. He moves twice and groans loudly. He is out and off, something wet is dribbling out from between her legs. She looks at him without shame and thinks, _I have had better._

By the time she gets to the walk she is tired and in pain. Her dress has been smoothed down and her hair is damp against her back. She bled, she thinks. She never looked. Instead getting out of that tiny room where she had been left. Alone.

Peter takes one look when she lets herself in and says, "Su. I can smell him all over you."

Susan says, "Smell who?"

"Harold... no, Harry. What does the name matter? It will be somebody else next week." His mouth is close to her ear and she is suddenly very warm. His hand chains both her hands together and Susan realizes how tall he is. "Promise me you will not -"

She only laughs lightly in return, "I promised myself to Harry. Not you. You're only my brother."

* * *

When she is twenty-one she loses her whole family.

There is no shadow memory to this, only the steady ache of her head and red rimmed eyes. The lipsticks on her dresser used to paint their names all over the mirror, covering her downturned mouth.

With friends she laughs loudly to cover the chatter of her kneecaps together.

The funeral home is dark and dreary. The coffins empty. Nothing but bits of flesh and bone had been left, no brothers and sister to reclaim. Just a list of names of all those who had been riding on the train.

There is no return home to a family that thinks she is vapid. She goes through their rooms, picking up trinkets, smoothing out shirts. She sleeps in Peter's old uniform, claiming reassurance from his scent. There is no letter for her in his old dresser, nothing to say he had a sister and her name was Susan.

She begins writing to Ed, then Lucy, then Peter. Peter's letter's are the longest.

Susan thinks if she writes long enough she'll be able to find her way home.

At night she stands before the mirror for the first time that day. Standing naked. She cradles her hipbones in her hands and thinks of a warm bed, the singing of mermaids outside, and of steady breathing.

Susan reminds herself to breathe. For the umpteenth time that day.


End file.
